


30-minute-love affair

by postmodern_robot



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Nyotalia, One Shot, Songfic, Unresolved Tension, on the train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4962913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmodern_robot/pseuds/postmodern_robot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was the point of starting a time-limited conversation with a stranger on a train if there wasn’t some soul-baring involved?<br/>All Cadet Julchen Beilshmidt wanted was someone to distract her with conversation on the train, while Roderich Edelstein isn't prepared for the inspiration that a less-protected life can bring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	30-minute-love affair

 

 _30 minute love affair_  
_All in the blink of an eye_  
_There you were standing there_  
_I heard an angel cry_  
_Runaway lover_  
_I soon discovered_  
_It was best when we left it_  
_I'll never forget it  
_ _Our 30 minute love affair_

_\- Paloma Faith "30 minute love affair"_

* * *

 

 

She saw him in the train on her last day of ‘freedom’.

Well, it was actually her first day of freedom, but you wouldn’t think so the way Francis and Isabel carried on. Clearly there was something missing from that Mediterranean water, her best friends weren’t the brightest of the lot, but she, Isabel and Francis weren’t siblings-from-another-mother for how...sensible they were when they were together. Or how sensible they were, period. They were friends because they had so much fun it was illegal; quite literally a few times. What more could one ask of friendship? She pulled out her phone, saw the empty screen and grumbled - Francis was in love, again, but that was nothing new, so him messaging sparse congratulatory messages and silly pictures of beautiful women was normal, but where was Isabel? One could ask for FRIENDS TO AT LEAST MESSAGE EACH OTHER? Today was her big day!

Soon-to-be-Cadet Julchen Beilschmidt was 19, and on her way to Army Officer School in Dresden with her grandfather and little sister, but she was always the restless sort in an otherwise very quiet family, so she had to leave them at their seats to walk off her excess energy up and down the train. The alternative was to get lost in her thoughts, and potentially fall to doubt. This was why she needed her friends to be a little more invested in her day, she loved her family but they were too quiet on days like this. Besides, she did feel a little guilty for leaving grandfather and Monika alone, but Monika was 15 now, old enough to handle responsibilities, and it wasn’t like grandfather was a helpless man or anything, despite his age. He didn’t quite approve of the military, but he was from that immediate post-war/Cold War generation after all. He had lost his son, Julchen and Monika’s father, and daughter-in-law to a car accident, rather than to a war.

Julchen wondered about her parents, her army father and medical officer mother – would they have been proud of her? Or would they have preferred her to pursue music?

Fuck doubts - she had made the decision that she felt was the most honest to herself. The statistics were never happy things to read, fuck statistics. If people kept giving up after reading statistics, humanity would never get anywhere. Man...she was so confused today - solemn, excited, nervous, happy. It was probably natural. She had worked so damn hard, of course it still didn’t feel real.

But back to the subject at hand – Julchen found him in the food carriage, back towards her, sitting at a full table of colourful tarts and cakes, and a rich cup of coffee. A thick, long and rectangular bag rested at his side, the type that you used to carry a fragile instrument on a long journey. It was his instrument first, and then his navy jacket that caught her attention, well-cut and draping those stiff shoulders, as if he were the one joining the army. Who knew? Who cared? Except that Julchen was a little OCD (very OCD), which was why the cut on his shoulders appealed to her so much. It was neat.

‘Interesting.’ She thought to herself. Julchen nonchalantly walked by and decided, why not? She deserved something sweet, there’s probably not much of that where she was going.

She looked over at the instrument. Violin? Viola? She hoped it was a viola, she found viola players much...cooler than those to favoured the more famous smaller instrument. Of course, almost everyone she met who played the viola, played the violin as well. Julchen had packed her flute to join her in this new chapter of her life. Of course she did, it was her father’s flute.

 

* * *

 

He saw her with dessert. Exhausted, bleary and weary, he ordered everything with sugar that the train had with a strong cup of coffee, hoping it would wake him up. He couldn’t sleep. Isn’t that what happened when you fell in love?

He had always hoped that love would leave him with a … better feeling than this. This was apprehension, fear, confusion and well, more confusion. Isabel was young, only 19, and he was 25. Sure, in the long run that wasn’t a terrible age difference, but right now Isabel was still in school, and in Spain, and struck him as a little crazy. But Isabel was the sun, his sun, his first muse. They locked themselves in his hotel room for three days after their first night together, a rich melody singing in his mind, full of Spanish guitar, trumpets, horns and powerful percussion, viola and violins fluttering in the backdrop. Isabel was a force of nature, a dancer, a warrior, a queen. His fingers tingled, even till now, just thinking about the hot feel of her flesh, his flashes of inspiration, her tickled laughter as he roughly drew five straight lines across the curve of her back with a fine marker, along with treble clef, bass clef, and the opening notes of a new piece, right there onto her body.

‘Leave it,’ she said. She wanted to make it a permanent tattoo.

Crazy. But as he tried to open his mouth to dissuade her, nothing came out.

They ordered room service to eat, while he ignored his companions and their exploration of the old city. He explored Isabel instead, they explored each other, what made her laugh, what made her moan, what made her lose that last shred of control (it didn’t take much, she loved his fingers). Eventually he realized that he couldn’t keep drawing on her body, as much as she enjoyed the sensation, and put notes to paper. Whenever his Spanish love felt that he was slowing down, she inspired him again. 

What was Roderich doing?

He had been travelling for too long. A flight from Vienna to Madrid, a week of madness, Madrid to Barcelona, a week of longing, Barcelona to Paris, Isabel met him there again. A train from Paris to Berlin, and now another train to Leipzig. Through all this he barely slept, playing at concerts and learning all day, composing Isabel’s piece at night. He still didn’t know what to name it, but it was finally finished. The first draft of it anyway, it would need a lot more work before it was ready for anyone’s ears.

God he needed something sweet and strong, to taste again and wake him from this...dream? Trance? He roughly dug a fork into the strawberry tarte and bit down into the delicious sweetness, only to notice - a pair of red eyes?

No, they weren’t red. They were a curious dual shade of blue to dark brown, that in his haze of distraction, looked to match the berries on his tarte. Those eyes were ignoring him, focused entirely on his viola and violin case to his side. Well that was...different. Was she a musician? Ah...that he could talk to. Violinist? He tried to look at her neck, to look for the telltale bruising that violinists developed from gripping the instrument between chin and shoulder. He couldn’t see it from where he sat. Roderich next tried to spot some callouses on her fingers. They were clenched. Damn. Lips? He was told when he was a young child that the curve of his upper lips wouldn’t lend best to flute playing but-

A pale hand slammed down on his table, upsetting his coffee. Why had she done that?!

“Damn! Most people try not to be so obvious when they stare!” The pale woman yelled.

 Oh.

“I’m...I wasn’t actually staring.”

“Nah, of course not. You just checked out my hands, my neck and my mouth. Want a closer look? Here! AAAAH.” She opened her mouth, big and shocking, he looked away. How unlady-like.

“I’m sorry.” He finally let out. It was the right thing to do after all. “Truly, I was wondering if you played an instrument, you were so focused on mine.” It didn’t bother him for a moment that she hadn’t spared a glance for him.

She frowned at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “Is that how they teach you guys to make excuses at music school? Smarmy bastard.”

What? Roderich tried his best to muster his worst offended expression. He couldn’t quite manage it.

She tilted her head, and stared at him unabashedly. “Damn...you look like shit man. Sleep’s gotta be better for you right now than sweets and caffeine. You should probably get some wherever you’re going before getting beaten up by the next girl you stare at like that.”

“Do you always stop and give advice to men who look at you without invitation?” He asked, exhausted, but genuinely curious. He had thought he was experienced with women, but clearly this whole business with Isabel proved how wrong he was about that. It made him uncomfortable suddenly to remember that what happened with Isabel started off somewhat similarly - except in her case, he had stood outside for hours listening to her playing her guitar in the square. She wasn’t a busker or anything, she had just been struck by the fancy to take out her guitar and play in the square, and so she did.

“Do you always ask questions and then disappear into your own world even when you’re awake? Nah man, I don’t talk to weirdos usually, but you have a table full of dessert that you can’t possibly finish on your own, and where I’m going, they’re not going to stuff me full of tarts.” She answered proudly.

“And where are you going?” He asked, unsure why he was curious at all, but telling himself that it was just because she clearly wasn’t going anywhere, not while eyeing his food like that. “And do you always try to convince strangers to share their food with you?”

“Do you always interrogate people you’ve just met? You started this man.”

Roderich couldn’t tell if he was more peeved or intrigued by the stranger. On a normal day, fully awake and clear-minded, he likely would have sneered and demanded that she left him alone. She was strange in his eyes, a woman who could have been more beautiful than she was, but chose to eschew the more common manners and elegance of a lady. It was a pity really, with that long almost-white blonde hair, slender frame, and curious eyes. Before she had turned around earlier he saw the tips of black wings tattooed on her back, peeking out from behind short sleeves. She would match anyone’s image of an angel, oddly, if she just wanted to look the part. 

He shook his head again, waking himself up a little. “You may as well,” he eventually sighed, indicating his food. “I disembark at Leipzig, it’s less than 30 minutes away now, I’ll hardly be able to finish it all.”

“Sweet!”

She sat down, picked up a fork and dug into the sachertorte, rubbing her stomach in appreciation as she closed her eyes, expression full of enjoyment and satisfaction. A grown child. 

“Both.” Roderich heard himself say.

“Wha-?” She asked, mouth full of torte.

“I play both the viola and the violin, this case has both instruments in it. I play the piano as well, but obviously that doesn’t get carried around.” He explained.

She almost choked on her food, grabbed his coffee and took a gulp. “Bleh! How can you drink this? Ah man don’t make me laugh when I’m swallowing, aristocrat!” She laughed some more, unabashed like there was no one else in the world. After she calmed down, she pointed to herself. “Flute.”

What on earth was so funny? A flutist? He tried to focus on her lips again, but she blocked his sight with another fork-full of torte. 

“That thing about how only certain lips are fit to play a flute is a total myth you know. Anyone can play a flute, as long as they figure out what works for them.”

Fair enough. He nodded. “You’re on your way to the music university in Leipzig then? Why wouldn’t they serve torte around there?”

She laughed again. “No pretty boy, I’m joining the army. My stop is at Dresden. If I wanted music I could have stayed in Berlin.”

She continued talking about how excited she was but Roderich couldn’t focus on the words. Why on earth would anyone choose the army over music! Did this obviously freedom-loving individual who declined to comb her hair properly and wear ripped clothes really want that kind of lifestyle? But while she continued speaking, he noticed that her hands (slender, curved even at rest, he could see them dexterously flying over flute keys) unconsciously straightening out the plates on his table, reorganizing the food until they were lined up in a straight line, similar colours accompanying each other. So this woman didn’t really care about what she looked like as long as her environment made sense to her - the complete opposite of him.

 “If you ever convince a woman to take you home, you may want to listen to her.” She laughed again.

Roderich finally took another bite of torte. “I’m a musician before anything else, much less a soldier, I’m afraid.” 

She nodded, and looked at the passing foliage out the window, thinking about how to put together what she wanted to say next, most likely. The sunlight hit them at that moment, lightening the planes on her face, and suddenly Roderich heard a riff of music playing in the back of his mind – an electric guitar?! That was certainly not his first instrument of choice, but there it was, a sweet melody, played with the punching sound of an electric guitar, partnered and softened by a parallel flute solo… 

Oh God.

Why?

He couldn’t do this again! He couldn’t compose for non-stop nights on end! He needed to sleep!!! 

“That’s the truth of it.” She continued. “I’m a soldier before anything else, but I don’t think that the two need to be mutually exclusive, the military has a lot of functions after all. I know I’ve wanted to wear a uniform since I was just a little girl, just like my father, to play my part, to be a part of a legacy, a bigger family, serve my country in a way that it still does need to be served.” 

An angel with a shotgun? No that couldn’t be the name of this piece, that name was already taken. How unoriginal! If Roderich had the energy, he would slap himself.

“I don’t know much about the military I’m afraid,” He said instead, “Except that they likely don’t do so much these days. Which is a good thing. I cannot possibly fathom being born in Vienna in my grandfather’s time or even before. Although, I would make an exception for the late 1800s, before that nasty war business. The golden age of music.”

She shook her head, almost amused, almost sad. “Nasty war business.” They both fell silent, not really wanting to speak in depth about the weight of that history. It went without saying didn’t it? “A military is more than that,” She carried on. “Now we mostly defend. I’m on board with that.”

He nodded, what else could he do? “Is there a particular...branch? Is that what it’s called? That you wish to serve in? Is there some kind of school in Dresden?”

She laughed again at his ignorance. “Only the Army Officer School, not much.”

“You’ll be an officer? Will…” How could be ask this, delicately?

“Will anyone take my orders even though I’m a woman? Yes they will.” She answered, tone serious and deep. It sent shivers up his spine, if she snapped an order at him then and there, he would have obeyed.

“I don’t know much about your military, but I was given to believe that the presence of women there is a small one, and a relatively...recent phenomenon.”

She pulled another plate towards her. “Phenomenon, he says, as if it’s a miracle. Yeah you Austrians actually beat us to this one. Women have served in the German military since 2005. Not a long time ago, and it’s still a work in progress. My grandfather thinks I’m crazy, every woman I’ve spoken to who has served has told me that she wouldn’t do it again. It didn’t dissuade me.” 

“I’m sorry,” He shook his head as he reached into his travel case to pull out a pen. “I must be too tired. I don’t understand.” He drew two staves, a treble clef and a bass clef on a paper napkin. 

“Do people understand you when the music comes first? Always has to come first?” She shot back.

A gentle beginning, ‘flute solo’ he wrote. The punching sounds would come in later.

“No.” He simply answered. “Never, they think that they do, but they don’t actually.” Which made him think back to Isabel – once this initial passion subsided, would there be anything left to understand? 

“Then you do, you just don’t know it.” 

* * *

 

They spoke. Though he was forcing himself to stay awake (there was barely any coffee left now, Julchen only felt a little sorry), and he was failing in his attempts at hiding the fact that he was composing. She found that she didn’t mind, it was kind of amazing to watch someone multitask like that.

He was the artsy type that she usually hated talking to. Julchen suspected that if the man were actually awake, instead of dead from exhaustion, he would have been an impossible brat. In this state though, he was a pretty good listener and asked fairly sensible questions, or at least questions she didn’t mind attempting to answer. He answered honestly too. He would look still look at her occasionally though, searching but not exactly invasive. Honestly when she started talking to him, it was mostly in the hopes of scaring him away so she could steal his food. One last minor act of misbehavior, before she joined a new family that didn’t allow for much of it.

She was nervous about joining the army. Something she never admitted to anyone, but she admitted it now. What was the point of starting a time-limited conversation with a stranger on a train if there wasn’t some soul-baring involved?

He knew his life was a mess, but if he could distract people enough with beautiful music, it could all be worth it.

Her little sister would grow up to be a much better woman than she would, Julchen was sure of it, and proud, sometimes she wished that her family was more demonstrative. All she had known since she was 12 was being strong enough for a family that had suddenly become smaller. Julchen didn’t know any other way to live.

They spoke about a lot more, it was amazing what could fit into a short time when you allowed it to flow like that. Julchen almost believed that they could have continued for hours, almost asked him for his name until...

He was saying that he never knew his father, but his mother always indulged him in his love for music. Perhaps to a fault, if he had to be honest, but he was finding that living a life that wanted for nothing was unconducive to artistic creativity. Then he went silent suddenly, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t. Julchen found herself annoyed at that, come on, she wasn’t holding anything back. Time for the soul session to end. 

“So after Leipzig, where will you go little Prince?”

He seemed surprised at the change in her tone as well, but didn’t comment on it. 

“I guest-teach a class for a while, then I return to Austria.”

A while. As if she’d have time to see him after she started in earnest. It must have been a girlfriend that he suddenly caught himself talking about. He could have said something, she wouldn’t have minded, now that he didn’t and it was so glaringly obvious, Julchen could only look at him with distaste. It was awkward alright? If he had mentioned her, they would be cool. His not mentioning her meant that there was something for him to feel guilty about, speaking to Julchen about things that...he probably hadn’t gotten around to telling said girlfriend. Who was now acting evasively, trying to speak as vaguely as possible. Well, shit. At least Julchen didn’t ask him for his name. 

The announcement played over the speakers, announcing their arrival at Leipzig.

“That’s you priss. Better get going.”

She stood up before he did and walked back to her family, pretending not to hear him as she left. If she were honest with herself, she would have admitted her disappointment in that last moment of the 30-minute love affair. Now she just dismissed such fantasies as belonging to the realm of children - the realm she was leaving behind. Besides, if that’s what he could do to her in just 30 minutes…

Her phone buzzed.

“Fucking finally…” she muttered. Her screen shone with a new message from Isabel. The first words read ‘I have HUGE news! But first, Julchen! Have they shaved your head? H…’

Julchen smiled, pushing the thoughts of the little Prince away into the ether where they belonged as she read all the ridiculous questions Isabel sent. Days later, when she read Isabel’s ‘I’m in love!’ (good ol' Isabel, waiting to announce that so she wouldn't steal attention away from Julchen's big day), she told herself that she didn’t even think of the stranger on the train.

  


**Author's Note:**

> \- I'm still working on Unity and the Tomato Princeling, don't worry, it's just that those stories are long and complicated, and this simple one-shot just came to me while listening to some songs. It may not be here or there, or much resolved, but it needed to get out. 
> 
> \- I've wanted to experiment with more Nyotalia for a while now.
> 
> \- The inspiration for the song is [Paloma Faith's '30 minute love affair'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZBudBQ3D24)


End file.
